


Touch From the Hand of a Friend

by clgfanfic



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds himself in a bad situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch From the Hand of a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Compadres #11 and later in Black Ops #7 under the pen name Rhianna Corke.

          Sam watched as the old couple hugged each other, their wrinkled smiles lifting back the years until they looked like the young lovers they once were.  A familiar pressure pressed against his chest – Al called it a "warm-fuzzy" – telling him that he'd finished what it was he'd come to Baltimore to do.

          "Time to leap, Sam," Al said softly from where he stood near-by, watching the old couple with misty eyes.

          He grinned slightly, enjoying the sentiment in the observer's eyes.

          "Sam, time to leap," Al reminded, his fingers twitching as he tried to brush him away.

          The quantum scientist nodded, his smile turning wistful.  The old couple reminded him of his grandparents, and a tug of homesickness held Sam in 1958 a moment longer than necessary. 

          But it was time to go and Sam sighed and closed his eyes.  The pull came, as it always did, and he felt himself…

          Leap…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _Boy, it's dark_ , Sam thought as he glanced around his new environment, searching for any clue as to the time and place he now found himself in.  The air smelled earthy…   _I'm underground?_

          Earthy… and damp… and a little stale.

          _Maybe a cave?_

          He squinted and peered into the inky blackness, but it was a vain exercise.  He'd just have to wait for his eyes to adjust naturally.  With a sigh, he sat down on the dusty earth, wondering where Al was.

          While Sam waited for the observer to arrive, his eyes slowly adjusted to the low level of light and he nodded to himself.

          _Okay, I'm in a mine, but it's obviously not being worked._

          Pushing himself to his feet, he walked over to one of the support timbers and tentatively reached out, running his finger along the old wood.  The brittle material crumbled, giving way under the light touch.

 _And hasn't been worked in a long,_ long _time._

_Oh, boy._

          The mineshaft was cold, and Sam shivered.  He turned, eyeing his surroundings with more suspicion.  He found three shafts leading off in various directions from where he stood in the central junction.

          The telltale whisking sound of Al's arrival echoed in the cavern.

          "Which way do I to go?" Sam asked.

          "Sam?"

          "Over here, Al," he replied, unconsciously keeping his voice soft.  "To your left."

          The project observer swung around, spotted Sam, then walked up to join him.

          An echo of approaching voices stilled the questions Sam was ready to level on the hologram.

          "This way!" a man's voice shouted.  "I see him!"

          A gunshot rang out, a bullet buzzing by Sam's ear like an angry horsefly.  The scientist ducked, then charged down the nearest shaft, jigging like a football player to avoid sections of collapsed timbering and earth.

          "Over here, Sam!" Al called, appearing further down the shaft and gesturing for the scientist.

          The tip of Al's burning cigar acted like a beacon and Sam forced himself on faster.

          A second shot rang out, passing harmlessly through Al's chest, but the observer's eyes still went wide, and he automatically reached up, his fingertips checking for a wound.

          Sam stopped abruptly, retreating into a small pocket-like cleft in the rock formation making up one of the shaft walls.  Pressing into the small space, he held his breath and watched until three armed men passed by at a run.

          "Welcome to California," Al whispered.

          "Where am I?"

          "I told you," Al said, still checking his chest.  He transferred his ever-present cigar from between his fingers to the corner of his mouth and added, "California.  A few miles northeast of Placerville, in the Sierra Nevada's to be exact."

          "Why am I in an old mine shaft being chased by guys with guns?" Sam demanded softly.

          "Ziggy's working on that."

          That forced him to pause for a moment, then he asked, "Who am I?"

          "Terry Richards."

          "Who's he?"

          "Ziggy's working on that, too."

          Sam leaned out of the pocket, checking to see if the men were returning, but the narrow passage was empty.  "Al, I've got a funny feeling about this leap.  Something's… different.  It doesn't— I don't know— feel right, I guess."

          "Ziggy's working on that, too, Sam," Al replied, slapping the hand-link several times before giving it a good shake.  "Maybe she needs an upgrade…"

          Beckett shook his head, but the anxious expression on his friend's face stilled the rest of the questions he had.  Something told him that the longer he could wait for the answers, the better.  He wasn't going to like them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What the hell do we do now?" the youngest of the three shooters asked when he and his two companions stood in the large juncture cavern.

          "We do what we planned," the second and largest of the group replied.  "We blow the damned shafts and go collect our seventy-five thousand dollars."

          "But, Terry—" the third started, running his fingers through stringy blond hair and almost cowering before the older man.

          "Terry knew what he was gettin' into!" the second and obvious leader of the group interrupted, dark brown eyes flashing.  "I told him what was gonna happen.  If he lost the guts for it, that's his problem.  I'm not gonna risk blowing seventy-five grand just because he got cold feet!"  He pushed his baseball cap up, freeing a shock of brown hair streaked with gray that fell across his forehead.  "Come on, we have to get that dynamite set."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Al frowned.  "Ziggy says—"  A low rumble cut him off, the sound growing louder as the ground started to tremble under their feet.

          Sam swayed, fighting to keep his balance.  Dirt, rocks, and pieces of the overhead timbering rained down on him, filling the air with dust.

          "Earthquake?" he asked.

          Al's eyes went wide, his face pale, and he dropped his cigar as he stared at the hand-link.  Looking up, he frantically waved his hands, yelling, "Sam, get out of here! _Now!_ "

          The younger man hesitated, his gaze skipping from one shaft to the next.  "Which way?"

          Al snarled wordlessly and knocked the control unit connecting him with the super computer with the heel of his palm.  "Damn it, Ziggy, _don't_ do this to me!  Tell me, you damned collection of—!"  He looked up from the remote control, flashes of panic in his eyes.  "I don't know, Sam.  Just run!  Now!"

          Beckett stepped away from the cleft in the wall and sprinted, maneuvering the shaft the best he could.  When he reached the same juncture where he'd leaped in, he stopped, pausing before the openings of the other three shafts, hoping for a sound, a faint breeze, or a ray of light to tell him which of the dark tunnels led to the outside.

          There was nothing.

          A second dull rumble echoed through the shafts like the hunger pangs of a dragon who'd swallowed him whole.  The mental image did little to ease Sam's fears. A third explosion erupted closer than the last, more dirt and rock raining down on the scientist.

          "I can't make out any differences, Al.  I don't know which way to go!"

          The observer joined his partner, wishing desperately that he could reach out and drag the man to safety.  "Go with your gut, Sam, but you have to get out of here!  Please!"

          Glancing again at each of the three possibilities, Sam took a single step forward, paused, then sprinted down the far left tunnel.  The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and Sam felt his fear swell into chest-crushing panic.

          He came to a stumbling stop in the murky semi-darkness, then reached out with his hand, half-expecting to find an invisible force field blocking his path.

          Nothing but air.

          Sam tried to take a step forward, but his feet refused to cooperate.  He swung back around.  "Al?  What's going on?  This isn't right."

          Al rejoin him.  "Sam, you have to leave—"

          "I can't!" Sam snapped, looking at the observer.  "Tell me why I'm here!" he demanded, heading back to the juncture.

          Walking briskly to keep up with the physicist, Al tried again.  "Sam, those were _explosions_.  Those guys are blowing this mine to kingdom come.  You have to get out of here!"

          Sam swung around just far enough to make eye contact with Al, fear making his voice angry as he demanded, "Why am I here, Al?"

          Slapping the control against his hand, the older man read aloud: "Terry Richards is a college professor, in his— in history.  He teaches at Sierra Community College."

          "And he hangs out in old mine shafts?" Sam asked, looking anxiously around for something he couldn't identify.

          "I don't know, Sam.  Ziggy won't give me all the information."

          The scientist stopped and turned back to the observer.  "What?  Why?"

          "Because she thinks there's a 97% chance I'll stop you from doing whatever it is you're here to do!" Al yelled at the hand-link.

          "Why is Terry here now?" Sam asked, the feeling of dread growing stronger.

          Al stared worriedly at the small unit he held.  "Ziggy, please!" he pleaded as another explosion rocked the hillside.

          The link beeped.

          Al drew the control unit back as if to toss it away, but stopped when a high-pitched squeal sounded from the unit.  He looked again.

          "There was a kidnapping, Sam.  Two kids – brother and sister – children of a local wealthy couple… the Conaways.  Terry—"

          The next explosion was much closer, the force of the blast sending Sam lurching out of control.  He fell, colliding with the floor of the shaft and forcing a painful grunt past his lips.

          "Sam!  Move!  It's—"

          An odd ripping sound drowned out the rest of Al's words as Sam scrambled to his feet, but before he could run, the section of timbering above him snapped, collapsing on top the frightened scientist.

          Al's fear-stricken expression was the last thing Sam remembered before he felt the air forced out of his lungs and he collapsed into a blackness deeper than the mine shadows.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Sam?  Sam!  Can you hear me?  Wake up, Sam!"

          Blue eyes moved sluggishly under closed lids.  Finally his thoughts stilled enough that he could try and open his eyes.  Sam failed and groaned.

          "Sam?  Come on, Sam.  Open your eyes."

          "Al?" he mumbled.  He could tell from the tone of the man's voice that he was upset.

          "I'm here, Sam.  Open your eyes."  The last came out as a stern command and the scientist complied.

          Sam grimaced as he tried to move under the mound of jagged debris pressing him into the cold, damp dirt.  More rocks cut into his back.

          Al frowned when he saw the thin trickle of blood running across Sam's forehead and heard the painful wheeze that passed for a breath.

          "Sam?" he called, bending over the scientist.  "Sam, can you hear me?"

          "Al?"

          "I'm right here, buddy," the observer assured.  He punched several buttons on the hand-link, then frantically shook the unit.  "Ziggy, I'm gonna—"

          "Al?"

          "Yeah, Sam?"

          "Feel… funny…"

          "I'm trying to get Ziggy to—"

          "Al?"

          The observer's face paled as Sam arched against the weight, his legs kicking weakly while his eyes rolled back.

          "Sam?"  Panic tightened his throat, turning his voice child-like.  "Damn it, Sam, don't you die on me!"

          Beckett's body went slack, his head rolling to the side.

          Al reached out, trying to touch the man's cheek, roll his head back, but his fingers passed through Sam's chin with the familiar whisper of energy, telling him there was a real body lying there.  He glared at the hand-link, cursing the computer steadily under his breath.  Sam was dying and Ziggy was playing Twenty Questions.

          A ripple in the energy seized Al's attention and he looked back to Sam.  He blinked, trying to clear away the mirage-like waver that rippled across Sam's body, making him appear like the scientist one moment and Terry Richards the next.

          The observer's eyes went wide when Sam sat up.  Al's gaze dropped to the unmoving body that remained trapped under the debris – Terry Richard's body.

          "Sam?" he ventured in a hoarse whisper.

          Beckett met Al's concerned, confused gaze, then looked down at his nearly translucent hands.  A light, floating feeling lifted him to his feet and he saw a faint silvery filament that blossomed from his navel.  It twisted feather-like in some unseen breeze.  His gaze tracked along the thin cord, finding its anchor in the material body he apparently now stood in.

          "Al?  Can you hear me?"

          "Yeah," the observer said, walking around Sam, looking.

          "What's happening to me?"

          Al's expression remained taut as he shook his head and whispered, "I don't know."  The hand-link beeped and he glanced down.  "Ziggy says we have to find the k— uh, the kids."

          "How?" Sam demanded.  "I— I think I'm dead, Al."

          "Dead?"  The observer chuckled nervously, his own thoughts having traveled that path as well.  "You're not dead, Sam.  Just, well, something else.  Not dead.  Come on, let's go find those kids."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Navigating the debris-filled shafts proved no problem for the two insubstantial men, but it took Sam several minutes to get used to the sensation of passing through solid objects.  But once Sam did get the hang of it, Al was sure the scientist was taking some kind of perverse pleasure in running headlong through the loose rocks and broken timbers.

          Sam came to a stop in a clear section of the shaft and turned to face his friend. "Al, even if we do find these kids, how're we going to help them?"

          The observer shrugged, lifting the shoulders of his silver and purple jacket.

          Sam looked closer, noticing for the first time the bright orange shirt, charcoal pants, and silver shoes the man also wore.  "Al, that looks—"

          "I was on my way out when you leaped," the observer interrupted.  "Tina and I were going to the opening of The Marmalade, a new club in—"

          "Never mind," the scientist interrupted, shaking his head.  The neon blue star on the man's lapel was an interesting touch.

          Al looked hurt, but he started down the shaft, noting that the fine silver-like cord was still trailing behind Sam.  At least they'd have a way to find their way back to the main juncture, but then what?

          He refused to think about the possibilities, gesturing for Sam to follow him.  "Come on, they've got to be here somewhere."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Sam!  Over here!" Al called a few minutes later.

          Beckett hurried back down the shaft he'd been exploring alone to join Al in a second, smaller shaft the observer had been searching.  Just beyond the observer two children lay on the ground, struggling to untie each other.

          The twins were about twelve, Sam guessed, and comely despite the dust that coated their clothes and honey-blond hair.  Their green eyes were slightly wide with fear and frustration.  They were slender, but not weak, given the way they twisted and fought against their ropes.

          "Rebecca!" the boy called.  "I got it!"

          "You're untied?" she asked, her struggles ceasing.

          "Yeah," the boy replied, tugging the ropes so he could free his hands.  "Ta-da!"

          "Gloat later," she charged.  "Untie me!"

          "Sorry," he replied, quickly working his feet free, then moving to his sister.

          When she was untied he helped pull her to her feet and she wrapped him in a hug.  "Timothy, you're wonderful!"

          "I thought you said I wasn't supposed to gloat."

          She made a face at him, then fell serious.  "How do we get out of here?"

          "I don't know," he admitted.

          "This way!" Al called, but the children were oblivious to his call.  "I guess they're too old to see me." 

          Sam joined the observer.  "Hey!  Over here!"

          The two men yelled and jumped up and down, trying everything they could think of to get the kids' attention.  Sam saw the girl's forehead wrinkle slightly.

          "It's working!" he said to Al.  "Keep it up!  Over here!  Over here, kids!"

          "This way, I think," Rebecca said, taking several tentative steps down the shaft toward Sam and Al.

          "You sure?" Tim asked.

          She took several more confident steps toward Sam and Al, pausing a foot or two short.  The two men fell silent.

          "Can she see us?" Sam asked.

          Al waved his hand in front of her face.  "I don't think so."

          "Maybe she can sense us," Sam replied, reaching out to try and touch her hand.  She jerked it back.  "See!"

          "What?" Tim asked, moving to stand just behind his sister.

          "It's cold," she said.

          "It's a mine.  Mines are cold," the boy replied.

          "No, I mean it's _really_ cold, but just right there," she countered.

          Tim reached out and Sam brushed his hand through the boy's.  Tim yelped and yanked his hand away.  "That _is_ cold.  Like a ghost or something.  Mom always said ghosts were cold like ice."

          Rebecca nodded, taking a tentative step forward.  Sam took an equal step backwards.

          "I think someone's here," she said softly, reaching one hand back for her brother's.  Their fingers intertwined.  "Maybe it's a good spirit."

          "You mean a ghost?"

          She nodded.  "They want to show us the way out…"

          "They?"

          Rebecca glanced back to her brother.  "I think there are two of them."

          Al swallowed hard and looked to Sam, who was completely focused on the girl.

          "Come on, Rebecca," he said softly.  "This way.  Follow me."  He took another step backwards and she a step forward.

          "Sam, this is weird."

          "Shhh," Sam replied.  "I have to concentrate."

          "Come on," she said, giving her brother's hand a yank.

          Tim didn't look happy, but he followed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The pattern continued as Sam followed the tug from the silver cord, slowly leading the two children back to the main juncture.

          Rebecca gasped when she saw the body trapped under the fallen debris.

          "Is he dead?" Timothy asked.

          "I don't know," she replied.  "You check."

          "Me?"  Timothy's eyes widened, but he inched his way closer, finally bending down and touching Sam/Terry's neck.  He jerked his hand away.  "I think he's dead."

          Sam and Al exchanged concerned glances, but returned to the task at hand.

          "Come on," Sam said, "it's not much further."

          Al didn't ask how Sam knew that now, and hadn't earlier, he just followed along, watching as Rebecca followed the physicist with a faraway expression on her face.

          "Look!" Tim said, pointing to a shaft of sunlight.

          The pair bolted for the entrance of the shaft, passing through Sam and Al like water passing through air.

          "Will they be all right?" Sam asked with a tired sigh.

          Al consulted the hand-link.  "Ziggy says they'll be fine," he reported, looking relieved.  "Now, leap, so we can get the heck out of here," he said, glancing nervously at the trapped body.  "You know how I feel about dead bodies…"

          Sam glanced at the entrance, the bright light feeling familiar.  He shook off the attraction and walked back to the trapped body.

          "I can't leap just yet, Al…"

          "Why?" the observer asked, moving further away from the body.  "The kids are safe—"

          "There's something else I have to do here.  I can feel it."

          "Sam?" Al pleaded, the concern in his voice sending it up an octave.

          "Al, look," Sam said, pointing to the silver cord as it twisted slowly.  "It's… fading."

          The observer nodded.  "Sam, I don't like this."

          "I think Terry's dying," the scientist said, staring down at the trapped body, then up at Al.  "Or am I?"

          Al shook his head, words trapped in his throat.  He couldn't just stand there and watch Sam die.

          Sam moved closer to the body and Al could see that the thin silver cord was indeed fading into a wispy gray mist.  The body lying under the debris was dying, but was it Richards, or Sam?  He didn't know that either.

          "Sam!" he snapped as the physicist sat down into the body.  "What're you doing?  You have to leap!"

          "I have to get back," Sam said, his tone distracted as he tried to fit his legs into those under the rubble.

          "Back?"

          "Back inside this body."

          "But if it's dying—"

          "I have to," Sam insisted, but his distraction took the edge off his words.

          Al moved closer, his gaze shifting between the hand-link and Sam.  "Come on, Ziggy, a little help here…" he hissed under his breath, then slapped the unit harder than usual.

          "There," Sam said with a sigh and started to lay back.

          "Sam, no!"

          The physicist met Al's imploring gaze.  "Al, maybe it's my time—"

          "It's _not_ your time, Sam."

          Beckett glanced down, watching the silver cord dissolve, the last gray wisps curling away like incense smoke.  He felt a familiar tug, but it wasn't a leap.

          "Sam?" Al whispered desperately, reaching out for the scientist's shoulder.  His fingers curled around what felt like flesh and bone.

          Sam's eyes flew wide.  "Al?"

          The older man's mouth opened, but he had no explanation.  Without hesitation he drew Sam into a tight hug.  "Don't you die on me, Sam.  You're not done doing what you have to.  I know that."

          A burst of blue and white light exploded through both men and they clung to each other like two castaways in rough water.

          "Al, look!" Sam yelled over a sudden roar.

          The observer forced himself to look, wondering if he'd find the gates of Heaven or Hell waiting for them.  What he found was Terry Richards.  The young man looked healthy and content.  He raised his hand and waved at them, his lips moving, but they heard no words.  But they didn't need to hear; they could feel what he was saying.

          "Thank you.  I couldn't let them kill those kids.  Thank you."

          In a flash of blinding, but not painful white light Terry Richards disappeared and a wave of unconditional love and peace washed over the pair.

          Sam hugged Al closer, feeling the observer's fingers close tighter as well.  "If this is it, I want you to know—"

          "I know, Sam.  I know.  Me, too."

          Blue light enveloped both men and Sam felt the tug of his next leap.  He fought the pull, savoring the feel of a hug from his best friend, but it was impossible to resist.  He leaped…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sam blinked several times, waiting for the last moments of the leap to pass.  His gaze immediately swept over the landscape.  He was in a park, sitting on a bench, next to someone…

          He glanced over, finding a beautiful young woman sitting next to him.  She looked vaguely familiar, but he chalked the feeling and the lack of a name to the Swiss-cheese memory phenomenon that accompanied his leaping through time.

          He offered her a tentative, but reassuring smile.

          Her eyes widened, but before he could react, she slapped him.  "How dare you possess my brother!"

_Brother?_

          Then he knew.  Rebecca Conaway, the kidnapped girl, but she was older now, in her twenties, maybe?

          "Who are you?" she demanded.

          "Oh, boy," Sam muttered…

The End


End file.
